


The Socialpath Hour

by fingersntoes



Series: The Socialpath Hour [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: !SurpriseChastity, Chastity Device, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Socialpath Hour, Socialpath Hour Free Form Radio Show, Sowing Seeds, Spanking, The Socialpath Hour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:21:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingersntoes/pseuds/fingersntoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles had been a kid, nothing could have possibly been worse than being sent to his room, and when he was in High School nothing could have possibly been worse than Lydia Martin ignoring him. Now that he was a little bit older, he thought back on all the times that he'd been optimistic and told himself it could be worse only to realize that this was what he'd been referencing.</p><p>This is what it could have been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Socialpath Hour

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Socialpath Hour](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/28365) by hsuany & scatteredmuse. 



> I do not run [The Socialpath Hour](http://the-socialpath-hour.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. The Socialpath Hour is creative property of [hsuany](http://hsuany.tumblr.com/) and [scatteredmuse](http://scatteredmuse.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> This fic was inspired by [Stiles Takeover](http://the-socialpath-hour.tumblr.com/tagged/stiles-takeover). 
> 
> Submit your questions to Peter [here!](http://the-socialpath-hour.tumblr.com/ask)  
> The Socialpath Hour is brought to you by Beacon Hills Public Radio, and is sponsored by Toyota, Reese’s, AT&T and Macy’s.

The Socialpath Hour

Things had a funny way of getting turned around in the heat of the moment. One minute, Stiles found himself sitting in his room listening to stupid Peter Hale promoting his stupid perfume like the product placement bastard that he was, the next minute he was listening to him try and pick up on Melissa McCall and getting not only his Dad, but Scott's Dad on the line as well. Serves him right, Stiles thought to himself. It's too bad people couldn't get arrested for being creeps these days. No probable cause, no dice.

When the Adderall kicked in, he'd already grabbed his car keys and called Danny. Danny owed him a favor, after all, one that Stiles had been saving for a rainy day when his boredom rooted itself into the core of his being. If he happened to return the annoying gesture to Peter for all of his little passive innuendos about getting into his pants, all the better. Fuck that guy.

He’d do it in a series of steps, he told himself as he drove to the radio station. It was about the time that Peter got into the studio and he didn't want to go into the details of why he knew that information. Mountain Ash went around the entire parking garage and after that he met up with Danny across the street to get to work on the rest. They made quick work of changing the network passwords. Danny didn't ask questions this time and Stiles was grateful for that. The last thing he wanted to do was get someone else's blood on his hand when and if this thing went south. His heartbeat was fast and sporadic and he was a little light headed but this was the most fun he'd had in days.

Peter Hale wasn't exactly a beacon of truth, and Stiles was out to set the record straight. If this guy could get listeners to beg for his unborn hell-spawn in the form of coffee, he could probably shed some light on things Peter was leaving out. Nicknames like Big Problem Pete, who was that joker kidding? Stiles imagined he had a 330x50 pixel dick. 

Stiles had heard of the saying 'you have a face for radio' but he never really thought about the necessity of having a brain for radio. Especially THIS radio show. The Socialpath Hour, for the love of God, it was a pun on Sociopath, was he the only one who actually got it? So on the Socio-Socialpath Hour, the last thing he imagined was the entourage of listeners proclaiming undying love for Peter fucking Hale. Peter, murderous psycho-pants, Hale, and he couldn't even get a girl to look at him if he was wearing his birthday-suit down the halls of the High School.

Maybe that was it. He had solved the unsolvable question.

What do women really want? They want a murderer, but only a good looking one that scared them within an inch of their life, tried to kill them a handful of times, got killed themselves but came back, turned over a "new leaf" and started working at the local public radio station wearing plunging necklines to show off their man cleavage. It was every woman's wet dream, Stiles was convinced.

So even while he'd solidified it in his head that he would never get a date because he was a nice guy who didn't try and kill anyone and actually showed some modesty in his attire, at the very least he could tell Peter where he could stick it.

And just when things couldn't have possibly gotten worse with the show's psychotic fans praising their psychotic deity, then came the questions about him. Up until this point, Stiles had been enjoying the defacing of Peter's show. Peter had a smug smile, pornostache and perfectly manicured everything. He was in need of a good defacing, as far as Stiles was concerned. No amounts of Hitler-stache, pigtails or drawn on "money shots" was ever going to be enough to put him in his place, but someone had to draw the line in the sand.

Those were the thoughts that had been reeling through his head, up until he picked up the line for the next caller.

* * *

"Hello caller, you're on The Stilinski Hour."

"… Changing all of my network passwords to anagrams of Allison? You think you're so funny."

The chilling sound of Peter's voice is something that no one should ever get used to and he berates himself for not announcing that to the listeners when he had the chance. 

"Can't believe it took you this long to figure it out. Aren't you supposed to be smart or something?" Coaching himself, Stiles keeps his tone uninterested and level. The last thing he wants to do is get into a screaming match when he’s the one hosting.

"Also? Begging my fans for dates is pathetic and desperate, Stiles."

And that was it. Fucking Peter Hale, folks.

"YOUR FACE IS PATHETIC AND DESPERATE."

"Get off my show, brat!"

Strong finish. Strong finish.

"You'll have to find me first, jackass. I'm remotely hijacking your broadcast signal, I could literally be anywhere."

And thats when he feels it, one heavy hand falling down on his shoulder with a terrifyingly tender grip that not only says to stay perfectly still, but that he is officially in more trouble than he bargained for. Radio has the possibility for an infinite amount of silence. For every second of silence that Stiles allows to pass on the radio feed, he feels as though he’s going deaf from the screaming in his ears. His cheek and neck are boiling hot as he stares blankly at the call screen which has flatlined into a dial tone.

Snapping forward he makes a go for it.

"I am at Beacon Hills Publ-"

Shoved backward in his seat, Peter's hand is impossibly fast to cut the feed off, before he calmly shuts the screen to Stiles’ laptop. He slides his grip from Stiles’ shoulder and moves to lean his weight back against the wooden table in the center of the room. Beacon Hills Public Library is a wonderful location for students to study. It not only provides an array of books but it also has modernized soundproof study rooms. Plain white all around, soundproofing material on the walls and ceiling so try-hard students can slave themselves away. Or, in Stiles’ case, so teenage boys can hijack radio shows from local serial killers in an attempt at getting even.

In retrospect, Stiles can admit that this was likely not his brightest moment.

The halcyon wolf, on the other hand, stands with his arms folded neatly over his chest. When did Peter get into the room? And more importantly, why didn’t Stiles hear the door? He wants to glance over his shoulder and see if Peter forgot to lock it, but he also doesn’t think that is a realistic oversight. Stiles sits back in his chair with a look that conveys that same disinterest he expressed over the phone. It probably isn't coming off as strong as he wants now, but it’s all he has.

"Stiles, we need to talk about your general behavior."

"My **_behavior_**?!"

The ignorance that comes out of this man's mouth is enough to make him want to try his hand at choking him out, even if he’s painfully aware that an entire posse of followers would come looking for him with their pitchforks and torches.

"Let's talk about **your** behavior," Stiles quips in return, using the rubber sole of his shoe to put some space between the two of them. He hopes it goes unnoticed, but if he’s being entirely honest, he doesn’t think anything gets by Peter.

"Oh, Stiles, you still don't get it."

Planting his feet on the cheaply carpeted tread, Stiles launches his weight backward the moment Peter moves to stand directly in front of him. The chair crashes on its side and he scrambles to get his footing once more with arms flailing above his head until that calm hand that took possession of his shoulder is suddenly gripping onto the back of his neck. Squirming to get away Stiles spits out a mixture of curses and grunts until he feels claws threatening to tear open the tender casing of his cervical vertebrae.

"Ok - OK!" he stammers as he slowly rises up with Peter's hand. He’s suddenly back at that Winter Formal with the shadow of Lydia bloodied on the field, only Peter isn't being delicate with his claws under his jaw line to direct his gaze like before, this time he is literally pulling him to his feet with a supernatural grip that leaves little room for argument. 

If he allows himself to be entirely honest, he admits he knew Peter would make a go at taking some type of vengeance on him. He just didn't think that it would happen in the study room at the library with the window looking out at the distant park. Everything looks so peaceful outside with the changing tree colors - he imagines this is a more realistic visage of hell. Trapped in the torture chamber while the rest of the world went on swimmingly just out of reach.

Keeping him half hunched forward, Peter draws him up just enough to slam Stiles’ chest down against the table beside his laptop. Held down by his neck, Stiles groans in pain as he flattens his palms against the woodwork in an attempt to push his weight back once more. This time, Peter is ready for him and it doesn't get him anywhere. Everything comes to a sharp suspension when Peter moves to stand directly behind him. The slam of the older man's body weight has Stiles gasping out in discomfort as his own hips are ground down onto the corner of the table. Peter uses his free hand to push the laptop aside before he draws the hand down along the line of Stiles belt.

"Wh - What are you doing??" There is a desperation in his voice that was missing before, a terror rising up in him that he doesn't know how to place. Beat the shit out of him, yes, kill him, maybe, but take his pants off? No. No. Stiles is NOT okay with this. He makes a more grounded go at pushing away, but Peter tightens the grip at the back of his neck before finally speaking again.

"Tch, I suggest you stay very still Stiles before you make this any more painful than it needs to be."

"It doesn't have to be painful, or, I mean, what are you doing with my belt?" Stiles imagines that his voice sounds more like a whine than a pleading argument. It isn't his fault. Anyone put in this type of a situation would find themselves crying, squirming and preparing themselves for the worst. This is Peter Hale, after all. Stiles was given the unfortunate opportunity of watching him go off on perfectly innocent strangers, let alone what he did to people he felt had wronged him.

So saying that it wasn't his brightest moment to go against Peter Hale was probably a touch of an understatement. If he actually managed to survive, he could spend the rest of his life reflecting on that.

When Peter finally manages to get the belt undone, he pulls it free with his one hand and brings it around behind Stiles before he finally releases the boy's neck. Using only his hips to hold Stiles in place, Peter pulls each of Stiles’ arms back to loop his wrists in the leather of the belt. The sounds of Stiles’ protest fills the room as he begins to thrash.

"Now Stiles, you and Scott prank called my show at least twice… And you, yourself, changed my passwords and hijacked my signal." Leaning over Stiles’ back, Peter lets his chest press down against Stiles’ arms, and the boy gasps in discomfort, then freezes at the feeling of Peter's mouth against the shell of his ear. "Now the way I see it, you owe me for each incident, and since that seems like it could be a time consuming exercise… I thought we'd get started right away."

Stiles feels the familiar sensation of panic creeping into his skin. He feels this way any time Peter stands too close to him, but he also feels something else entirely. Something that feels like spider legs brushing against the thin hairs on his arms, only it's all over and no amount of trying to shake it off can make it go away. Just when the sensation of those spider legs brushing over his skin becomes too much, the foundation begins to crumble and he starts to fall. Light headed with his heart pumping somewhere in his throat, this is the way Peter Hale can make him feel when he stands too close to him.

As bad as all of this is, Stiles thinks Peter knows, and that makes it far worse.

Stiles is choking on his own air when Peter's hands come down around his waist and he stands himself up right behind him. This isn't going anywhere good and as much as he wishes his brain would turn back on so he could find some way out of this hell hole he's somehow launched himself into, he doesn't know how. He's frozen in fear and the tension he's starting to feel pressing against the front of his jeans is anything but helpful. There is nothing erotic about this, this, this is wrong. When he feels the fabric of his jeans pushed down to his knees, his brain finally decides to join the conversation.

"Holy shit, Peter - Christ, I'm sorry alright?!"

He throws his weight backwards, but Peter feels like he's impossible to move. Hands clutching hold of his hips now, this is getting more perverse by the minute and Stiles is going out of his mind. He's ready to start screaming but the irony of them being in a soundproof room is not past him. He doesn't care, though. There is always a chance and so that's exactly what he does.

"HELP! HELP ME!"

Peter's hand flies from his hips over his mouth with a warning claw grazing the corner of his cheek cautiously. The lecherous asshole doesn't even have to say anything this time for Stiles to get his meaning. This will be as long and drawn out as he chooses it to be. Stiles thinks this is bullshit, but he also is coming to appreciate there is a large list of things he disagrees with that Peter doesn't quite care about.

When Peter's hand releases him, he is ready to throw back another list of insults to try and bully his way out of this verbally. Fighting with the Sass Master or not, Stiles knows he can hold his own against Peter. His opportunity never comes into fruition, however. Wrapped around his head twice, Stiles growls against the fabric of what he can only assume is a neck tie. Shaking his head to try and deter the fastening of it, Stiles is starting to feel more and more helpless as this goes on.

Entirely detained now, Stiles struggles to focus on the feeling of Peter's palms as they return to his hips. As much as his head is spinning, he hasn't been entirely overrun with his panic. There is the very clear acknowledgement that Peter is toying with the elastic on his waistband, toying with him as he inches it over the rounded edges of bone and over the curve of his ass. He's thrashing again, and he doesn't know why because this clearly isn't working out in his favor. The biggest problem he has is his inability to stand still and take it.

Operation have lots of sex with lots of people in lots of positions hadn't entirely been going according to plan, but all things considered, Peter ranked somewhere in the middle of not even if you were the last person on earth and not even if the alternative was to be set on fire category. Idle and passing thoughts were just that, they weren't something he wanted to see brought to fruition, they were things he wanted to think about and forget.

The first and only time Stiles remembers being put in this position was in his childhood. Some punishment of types that had resulted with three quick swats on his backside before sending him up to his room to think about what he'd done. He'd been fully clothed and it had been, at the time, the worst experience of his life.

Now that he was considerably older, returning to this position and laid entirely bare from the waist down, tied and gagged, he was reconsidering his appreciation for those childhood moments. When Stiles had been a kid, nothing could have possibly been worse than being sent to his room, and when he was in High School nothing could have possibly been worse than Lydia Martin ignoring him. Now that he was a little bit older, he thought back on all the times that he'd been optimistic and told himself it could be worse only to realize that this was what he'd been referencing.

This is what it could have been.

When his boxers finally make it down to his knees in the pool of denim, he is painfully aware of how cold the air conditioner is, how hard his cock is getting and how badly he doesn't want Peter to see it. Stepping off to the side, Peter brushes a cool palm around the curve of his ass that has Stiles muffling curses against the tie as he attempts to move himself only to find the monster's free hand coming down against the back of his neck once more.

"Now, Stiles… You need to behave yourself. The more you thrash, the harder this is going to be on you."

Breathing heavily through his nose now, Stiles doesn't want to think of what that could entail in Peter-speak. There are a million questions going through his mind, but Peter's hand won't let him dwell on any of them. 

He can't really ignore the feeling of his heart pounding in his chest, the way that a chilled sweat has begun to break out along the line of his brow and Peter is just standing there with his palm caressing his ass. The deafening silence is back and the anticipation of the unknown has his stomach tightening into knots. For a minute, everything is total chaos until it is abruptly pulled to a standstill as Peter raises his hand back and brings it down hard against the curve of his ass. The cracking sound echoes off the walls and Stiles shoves his bared hips against the wood of the table. Desperately, he wants to look back at Peter with an accusatory glare but with one hand holding him down and the other caressing the burning hand print on his ass, he doesn't think that's an option.

The second blow comes down on top of the first, and this time Stiles makes a whine in protest. The stinging that begins to settle into the mounting burn has him all the more aware of his growing erection as Peter repeats this methodical process again and again. Panting from his nose, he can feel the tears streaking his cheeks as he moans against the tie and squirms, still trying to fight even while his argument grows unconvincing in the way he arches his back to prostrate himself for Peter's heavy hand.

Peter spanks Stiles until his ass is a cherry red bleeding down against the back of his thighs. Small pearls drip from his tiny slit as Peter caresses over his ass and dips his palm down between his thighs. With his legs detained at the knees, Stiles can't spread his legs further than they're positioned but that doesn't stop him from trying. His face is nearly as red as his ass and he can feel Peter's length pressing against his side.

When Stiles reeks of desire, Peter finally draws his hand away from the back of his neck. Curling his free hand around the curve of Stiles hip, he pulls the right cheek taught in his palm to further his greedy inspection.

"You knew you were going to have to be punished for what you did, Stiles… Are you that needy for my attention?"

Bringing his other palm up from between his thighs he brushes the pads of his two fingers over the untouched pucker just to feel the way Stiles shivers in response. He isn't fooling anyone in how badly he needs this, but that doesn't mean he's going to get it. Half lidded and delirious from the mixture of pain, pleasure and utter humiliation, Stiles only seems to snap into coherency when Peter draws his palms away entirely.

Standing perfectly still now, Stiles prepares himself for anything in the expanding silence only to hear the quiet click followed by the flash of his outline. Turning his head back, Peter makes sure to get a second picture with his face, wrecked as his backside before he slides his phone back into his pocket and comes up to undo the restraints on his wrists. Stiles suddenly feels very violated as he lets his palms fall limp at his side, unable to stand himself up.

"I'll expect you at my apartment tomorrow when you're done with class."

With that, Peter begins to walk toward the door and unlatches the lock before glancing back to him. His expression is still perfectly calm, as though this happened all the time in his world. "Unless you want those pictures to go public."

* * *

When Stiles finally steps into the door of his house, his skin still feels like it’s one fire. Grateful that his dad isn’t home he heads up to his bedroom and set his backpack down alongside his desk before he peels his shirt off. Covered in sweat, he thinks about showering but chooses to sit down on the edge of his bed instead. His skin feels tender and he immediately regrets the choice before working the toes of his shoes along the heel to get them off, lying down on his back. 

Stiles reaches his hand out to the left to flick the power button for his radio as the familiar intro of the Socialpath Hour fills the room. Special guest Deucalion. Stiles closes his eyes and rolls his shoulders back. Deucalion idly mentions the age of consent, and by that point Stiles has already undone the zipper of his jeans and stuffed his palm down between his thighs to grab hold of himself. 

When did this become his life?


	2. Of All The Aberrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At this rate, he'd never be taken seriously.
> 
> “I want to make a deal…” Stiles began, “You give me the pictures back and in exchange, I’ll suck you off, or even let you spank me, fuck me, have your way with me tonight.” 
> 
> “Okay, deal.” 
> 
> “It’s a very good offer Peter, and I feel like I’m being more than a good sport about this payback business and if you think—Wait. What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I wrote this up last year and hadn't gotten around to posting it due to moving and a bunch of other insane things but friends convinced me since it was already written there wasn't really a good reason **not** to post it. So hopefully you enjoy.

One fifteen in the afternoon. Stiles stares at the clock on the wall above the blackboard. Propping a cheek up with his fist, he chews on his bottom lip with some consideration as he listens to the mindless droll come out of the new English teacher’s mouth. He’s not quite as exciting as Derek’s ex girlfriend, but at least he isn’t out tripping the moonlight while choking people out.

Poor Derek, Stiles thought to himself. The man couldn't find a good relationship to save his life. Stiles had thought of offering it as a commiseration point but still couldn't stomach the idea of drawing him into a functional conversation. Derek's conversation skills ranked somewhere between neanderthal and squirrel since the carpet had been drawn out from under him the past time. 

Maybe that was selling squirrels short.

It didn't really matter anymore, he'd gotten the hell out of dodge and left the rest of them to fend for themselves. While Stiles thought he probably should have told Scott, he didn’t want to get involved. Leaving Beacon Hills was the only thing that was going to get the one man pain-train to come to a full stop once and for all, because realistically speaking Stiles was so fed up with the emotional walking-talking castigating fur coat.

Everyone had lost someone they loved, but Derek just couldn't catch a break. Maybe outside of Beacon Hills he stood a chance, this place was no more a home to him than a pound was to a stray.

One forty five, and forty five more minutes to go.

Stiles shifted in his seat and is immediately rewarded with regret. The stinging pain shoots from his backside and burns through the his thighs to the tips of his toes. Closing his eyes, he stops breathing to keep himself from whining at the reminder of his afternoon engagement.

The worse part? He’s pretty sure he's going to show up at Peter's apartment as he'd been instructed, and he's not so sure it's because the creep has blackmail on him.

Prior to yesterday, Stiles had never been spanked before. At least, he hadn't been spanked in _that_ way before. 

The logical side of his brain said it was wrong, disgusting, and Peter was a fucking pedo-bear.

The illogical side of his brain, the side he was pretty sure that was attached to his dick, said he'd never been so turned on in his life. 

Once he’d packed up at the library after all, he’d gone home and gotten himself off not once, but three times. He’d gone until his arm ached along with everything else on him from the waist down. That had to mean something, didn't it? Aside from the obvious fact that he was turning into a the wanton pervert.

He had been warring a battle with himself all day that the worse that could possibly happen was that Peter would spank him again, maybe even have sex with him and then what? He wouldn’t be a virgin anymore and he'd probably have to deal with that stupid fucking smile a little more often, but in the grand scheme of things that wasn't such a big deal so long as Peter didn't go broadcasting the whole thing.

So he'd show up, play it cool, and offer up an ultimatum.

His body in exchange for those pictures, and Peter's silence on the radio. That way, he'd actually be in control again. 

After the ordeal in the library, the radio station was clearly off limits; new tactics would need to be put in place. 

With the ringing of the school bell, Stils was on his feet and closing his notebook inside his textbook, shoving the bundle into his pack. Keys in one hand, he pulled his phone out with the other as he made his way for the parking lot. The faster he got to Peter's place, the faster he could head back to his own house and revel in the fact he wasn't a virgin anymore. 

A bittersweet victory considering the circumstances, but one that he'd like to revel in all the same.

Tapping on Twitter, he came to dead stop just before he opened the door to the jeep. The Socialpath Hour had sent him a personalized message. The image of the logo and his stupid smiling face has Stiles’ stomach churning uncomfortably. After school obligations and not making people wait? That was rich.

Pocketing his cell, Stiles jumped into the jeep. Coming to the decisive conclusion that the uncomfortable feeling in his gut wouldn’t be going away any time soon, he did what any sensible person would do at the ill disguised threat from Peter—He went _home_ to hide in his room.

If Peter was going to start broadcasting their business, he could get used to waiting around as far as Stiles was concerned.

Lying on his bed, Stiles had chosen to leave his phone silenced on the ground to dull the sound of any vibrations. Dad would be working late, and it was only a matter of time before Peter showed up. Giving his body up for the sake of leveling the field was only a good idea if Peter didn't seem like he had the upper hand in both situations.

When he woke up, two hours had passed.

Now, nearly five o'clock, he reached for his phone and almost toppled off the bed at the missed text message from Peter.

"You have till five o'clock."

Five o'clock till what? Till he posted the pictures on his website? Till he blew them up to the size of a billboard? The uncomfortable feeling from earlier returned tenfold, laden with a new feeling —A foreboding of what was to come if he didn't get his ass to Peter's like he'd been told to do.

Scrambling for his car keys, Stiles stumbled at the top of the stairs, catching himself against the arm rail. How he made it to his car is a miracle in his mental state. Not breaking light speed records or getting pulled over though? That was something far more rare given he drove the most recognizable jeep in Beacon Hills.

When he finally made it up to Peter’s door, he knocked rapidly with a breath of exasperation. Peter's calm expression is the last thing he wants to see. Sucking all of his air in through his nose, he tries to stand up right, but he needs the frame for support. 

Peter steps aside to let him in and Stiles nods in silence before he begins to move, the latching of the door solidifying his fate.

He's been to Peter's apartment all of twice, and he can't stand it. It's perfect.

With an immaculate sense of style it is clean, warm and fucking inviting. Everything a predator would want their prey to feel before the ultimate attack. Instead of a drafty loft like Derek with furniture found from haphazardly collecting things in gently used conditions, Peter had a damn IKEA spread for every room.

From the glass chandelier over his dining room table that he never used to the paper weights placed on his book shelves.

In fact, the oddest part about Peter's apartment was the random collection of photographs, all professionally taken, of bears. It was a damn shrine along the hallway walls in white frames. Stiles had made the mistake of asking the first time around what purpose they served only to find out that Peter Hale, full time psychopath, part time radio host, part time photographer was also a part time bear enthusiast.

Go figure.

Even weirdos had their hobbies.

Having caught his breath, Stiles takes a look around to acclimate himself to his surroundings. He is pretty sure he should have at least found his vial of mountain ash to have on hand, but he had been in such a rush he’s surprised he even grabbed his phone. 

If it was going to work, he would need to act fast, and so he doesn’t give Peter an opportunity to speak before his lips are moving. 

“Okay, listen, Peter, before you say anything...”

Peter stops mid stride in the hallway to turn, and the way their eyes meet Stiles can feel the shift in his pants. He’s getting hard, again—Damn it. 

At this rate, he’d never be taken seriously. 

“I want to make a deal…” Stiles began, “You give me the pictures back and in exchange, I’ll suck you off, or even let you spank me, fuck me, have your way with me tonight.” 

“Okay, deal.” 

“It’s a very good offer Peter, and I feel like I’m being more than a good sport about this payback business and if you think—Wait. What?” 

“I said **deal**.”

A little more than frightened suddenly, Stiles realized far too late he hadn’t actually intended Peter to take him up on his offer. Shifting his weight, he tucks his palms into the pockets of his hoodie as he stares Peter down.

This was getting complicated.

“Go to the bedroom,” Peter stated easily, “I’ll be there in a moment.” 

Taking a step aside, Peter’s expression seemed to lack its usual smile. The one that conveyed the fact he was holding all the cards. Normally his lack of outward confidence wouldn’t have been a bad thing, but Stiles had the sinking suspicion he did have all the cards that night. 

Brushing past him, Stiles doesn’t want to think about the reason he knows the way around Peter’s apartment so well.

Once in the bedroom, he looks around thinking if one had to get molested by an old man, this wasn’t such a bad spot. It was clean and the bed looked comfortable enough. Three times the size of his, so they wouldn’t be on top of one another when it was all said and done. 

And since ordeal would likely put them on agreeing terms for a day or so, he imagined he could get Peter to agree to keep it between the two of them. His father was the Sheriff and all, he would always have at least that card up his sleeve. 

When Peter came into the room, he held a towel under his arm and the two photos. Setting the photos on the dresser he shut the bedroom door behind him and placed the towel on the corner of the bed. “Undress yourself and lie down on the bed.” 

The instructions seemed simple enough, but with his anxiety spiking Stiles feels like the floor is starting to fall apart beneath him. Trapped in MC Escher’s world now, the room has no corners. Unzipping his hoodie, Stiles tossed it on the lounge chair in the corner. Who had a fuckin lounge chair in their bedroom anyway? His shirt came next and he pushed the toes of his shoes to the heel to scrape them off one by one. 

When he was done, he stood in black boxers. The gold batman seal on the elastic breaks Peter’s composure enough to make him smile. 

Scowling he crawls over the top of the bed to take his position. Lying in the middle, he’s not fooling anyone with his hard-on threatening to peak out of his shorts. Cupping his palms over the bulge and looking up at Peter, he waited for him to make his next move.

Standing at the end of the bed, Peter lines his thighs up with Stiles toes. Peter seemed to be enjoying himself, and Stiles thought he might have been too. 

The logical side of Stiles brain groaned.

“Boxers off, let me see my handy work from the library.” 

Watching Peter sink his palms into the pockets of his jeans, Stiles wondered idly if he always wore v-necks. Squirming, Stiles lifted his hips from the bed and drew his palms beneath the elastic around his waist. It brushed over the curve of his ass roughly and it made him cringe.  
With his heartbeat pounding through his chest, Stiles thought he might have passed out under the weight of Peter’s dead stare. 

Lifting his legs, he finishes removing the shorts and sets them aside for a stark contrast against the white comforter. Following Peter’s gaze, he know his attention has shifted to his groin. Now free, his stiffened prick resting pointed up toward his belly and Stiles awkwardly turns to the side so Peter can see the slight discoloration from the day before down the back of his thighs and his entire backside. 

Reaching a hand out, Peter doesn’t get on the bed but he does grab hold of Stiles thigh to pull him further down toward the end of the bed. His hands are cold and leave Stiles groaning into the mattress with his cheek pressed to the side. Stiles puts his elbows down to keep himself steadied on the bed as he rests on his chest. He’s grateful for the cover but the idea of another spanking has him twitching once more.

“Up on your knees.” 

Doing as he’s told Stiles feels more confused now. How was he going to suck anything off when he was facing the headboard? Was Peter just going to go for it all? Now? Dry? Panic sunk into Stiles entire body as all the color drained from his face. He should have at least told someone he was coming over, Scott, his father, anyone. Peter’s past history with kidnapping teenagers wasn’t exactly a laughing matter. 

“Now… I want you to use the hand you’re best with and grab hold of yourself.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Stiles looks up at Peter. His panic is still evident in his gaze but Peter’s own stare is calculated. With one hand raised up, the werewolf pointed a finger down toward the bed for Stiles to focus on the task at hand. Turning his gaze back toward the headboard, Stiles reached a shaky hand down between his thighs while his free hand steadied his body over the mattress. His fingers curled around his body, adjusting for a full grip. He throbs in his own palm with arousal sending his gaze down to the mattress beneath him.

“Slowly rub your hand down to the tip and collect what you’ve already spilled to rub back up to the base of your cock.”

Swallowing thickly, Stiles remembers suddenly that Peter can smell him and is more than aware of how much this is turning him on as well as sending him into a panic. He strokes himself down over the tip and surprised by how much he finds to rub back over his length, causing his breath to slip. When Stiles feels the bed shift under his weight, he can vaguely make out the shape of Peter’s knees between his spread thighs. He’s ready for anything, he tells himself. It wasn’t what he always imagined it would be, but he’s prepared. Being put on edge makes him jerk though, and soon Peter’s palms are reaching out for his bared hips. With no time for him to react, he gasps out when his ass is pulled flush to Peter’s fully dressed groin. Fully dressed.

He’s fully dressed. Stiles nearly chokes on air. What the hell was happening?

“You see Stiles,” Peter begins as he let’s the heat of his breath fall along the shell of his ear. “It’s not enough for you to offer yourself to me.”

The sound of Peter’s voice has him grinding his teeth. Stroking himself again, faster now, he tries to focus on the feeling of Peter’s body beneath the fabric. If this was going to be a group session of solo exploration, he was at least going to get what he was after regardless of Peter’s power speech. “You’re going to beg me for it…” And then Peter is yanking him up by the waist until his shoulder blades slam into the older man’s chest. With claw like finger tips sliding over his hip and down the expanse of his bared thigh, scales the length of Stiles rib cage until one careful claw brushes along his adam's apple. “You’re going to need it so badly, you won’t be able to help yourself.”

It didn’t feel the way they describe it in erotic literature, there was no blinding white light and he didn’t feel dizzy. He didn’t stagger forward the way they do in porn, or feel the need to turn and kiss him. It felt like falling and the pressure is enough to have his head tipping back over to rest on Peter’s shoulder to expose his throat.

It feels like vulnerability.

With Peter’s free hand digging claws into his thigh, Stiles is surprised by how much he moans when the hand comes over his length. Purposely, Peter brushes the side of his nail over the head of his length as Stiles hand falls away. Somehow, he manages a quiet plea and he’s grateful Peter doesn’t need the rest of the words.

“Are you ready to do anything for me?”

He manages a nod and that’s when Peter pulls away. He stands upright, and draws Stiles with him until his weight is tipped backward allowing his legs to splay out from beneath him. By the time he realizes this, his head is at the end of the bed and he’s closing his eyes. He’s made a mess on the comforter in his release. With his eyes fallen shut, he’s unsure of where Peter has gone but the room is quiet. Surprised when he feels him sit down beside him on the bed, Stiles bleakly opens his eyes. Peter’s hand feels cold as he strokes his wilting length and Stiles can feel himself whimpering in need.

Starting to lift his head, Stiles attempts to regain his focus, what he sees he can’t name. There are eight small dots at the tip and it’s about 4” long. It snaps around his length and further between his legs. Stiles sees the small padlock but doesn’t have time to react before Peter is clamping it shut over the device. With a slack jaw Stiles lifts his weight with his elbows in one swift motion despite his disorientation and looks at Peter before he looks back to the metal cage around his dick.

He knows what it is, but the the idea of being locked in chastity for any duration of time sounds like a sadistic joke. A kink power-play from one of the erotic stories he’d been known to read—That’s when it hits him. Of course it is a kink power-play, everything Peter did was a power-play.

It is the reason he always smiles.  
It is the reason he so easily instructed him.  
It is the reason he kept his fucking clothes on.

“Very funny…Now take it off!”

When he pulled his eyes from the cage, his eyes went searching but Peter has already gotten up to pick up the photos from the dresser, setting them down on Stiles lap.

“We’ll talk about that later…You should probably get going though...Fresh start in the morning for your internship at the radio station.”

Pushing the photos away, Stiles grabbed a hold of the metal cage to claw at it. Everything is so sensitive though and it sent a wave of pleasure rippling through his thighs. Groaning he threw his head back against the bed.

“Peter… Peter!”

With the room once again empty Stiles struggled to roll off the bed, pulling his shoes and pants on. He’s grabbed his shirt and hoodie to stomp down the hall, finding Peter in the kitchen sipping on a glass of red wine.

“Give me the key.”

With his face flush red, it’s a wonder he managed to speak without shouting. He knew better than to pull it with Peter though. He could shout till his face went blue, but it would only get him a sterilized stare with a knowing twitch against the corner of his mouth.

“You said you were ready to do anything for me.”

“I know what I fucking said, Peter! Now give me the key!”

“Two days.”

“I am not keeping this bird cage on my junk for two days!”

He smiled brightly. With the glass lifted up to his mouth, he took another drink. The conversation was over.

**Author's Note:**

> The graphic above is mine. Base found at [Blaz](http://www.blazrobar.com/sign-in/), MacBook Template from [Pixeden](http://www.pixeden.com/psd-mock-up-templates/macbook-pro-retina-psd-mockup). 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [killthedeepsea](http://killthedeepsea.tumblr.com/).


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